


and i believe this costume party is over

by bettycooopers



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, PWP, mentions of Bughead and Varchie, of the Halloween variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27320545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettycooopers/pseuds/bettycooopers
Summary: “Well, well,” Cheryl’s voice rings in his ears, “matching couples costumes? How very festive the four of you are.”
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	and i believe this costume party is over

**Author's Note:**

> happy barchieween!! here is some gratuitous smutty nonsense.
> 
> thank you, [becca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/packedyoursaturday), for prompting me with this and then fixing it entirely.

If you would have told Archie Andrews this afternoon that he would wind up in a closet at Cheryl Blossom’s house with the wrong girl again, he wouldn’t have believed you.

He doesn’t even believe it now, even as he hears her let out a breathy little moan and smiles against the hollow of her neck, his tongue flicking out over the skin and getting a taste of her sweat mixed with the floral perfume he doesn’t totally remember her wearing earlier. 

“Arch,” she breathes, and he feels his brain stop working. 

—

Archie Andrews doesn’t like Halloween parties — he’d probably say he _hates_ them, to be honest. Halloween is his favorite holiday, which is why the thought of spending it at Thistlehouse in a sea of his classmates, wearing a sweaty costume and drinking shitty beer from whatever keg Reggie manages to get them doesn’t really sound appealing. He’d much rather spend the night with Ronnie, Betty, and Jughead, watching scary movies and eating more popcorn than his microwave can handle making. 

Veronica, on the other hand, loves Halloween parties — which is how he winds up at Thistlehouse, wearing a suit with his hair slicked back, fake bullet holes plastered all over him, fake blood dripping down his skin. “You make a great Clyde, Archiekins,” Ronnie says, leaning up on her toes and kissing Archie’s cheek softly as they make their way up to the well decorated manor.

“Thanks, babe,” he mumbles, giving her what he hopes looks like a kind smile. “You make a great Bonnie, Ronnie,” he adds, chuckling, after a bit too much time has passed for him to return the compliment. He’d known who Bonnie and Clyde were, but the costumes Veronica had come up with were...a bit less gory than he’d thought they’d be, and a bit more fancy. She has a little round hat perched on the top of her head, her hair pulled under a cap beneath a blonde wig, and a fake bullet hole with blood dripping from it placed precariously on her neck. He’s pretty sure the bullet holes are for his benefit, even though they’re the thing that’s annoying him the most. She pats him on the chest and laces her fingers with his, pulling him into the house. 

They make their way through the party slowly, stopping to say hello to people here and there as they weave through Thistlehouse to find the kitchen. Veronica sees them first, squeezing her hand around his as she sucks in an annoyed little gasp. “What,” Archie mutters, his eyes firmly stuck on Kevin, who he’s pretty sure is dressed up as Mermaid Man, “what’s happening?”

“Oh,” he hears Betty’s voice and his head snaps up, searching, “oh my god.”

Betty and Jughead are standing in front of them, fully decked out in…what he thinks are Bonnie and Clyde costumes. At least, he can tell that Betty is Bonnie — her hair curled loosely at the ends, the same little hat Veronica has on pinned to the top of her head, a silky looking dress hitting just above her knee and a fake pistol holstered to her leg with a garter belt. _Fuck_ , she looks…better than anyone else here, probably. Definitely. He’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to look at your best friend like _that_.

Archie swallows, forcing himself to look over at Jughead, who…is Clyde, he guesses. He’s wearing a suit and has his hair slicked back, similar to Archie himself, but…well. Without Betty, he just kind of looks like a guy in a suit. 

“Hey, guys,” Archie laughs out, his face twisting into a grin. He seems to be the only one smiling. “Bonnie and Clyde?”

“You…you guys are Bonnie and Clyde, too?” Betty smiles at him, her eyes wide — she sounds amused, at least. He feels her look him up and down, but when he drags his eyes back to her to see if he can catch it, she’s already got her gaze on Veronica.

“Well, after the whole…crime spree, thing,” Veronica says, her voice a little stiff. She tightens her grip around Archie’s arm. “You look _radiant_ , B.”

“Thanks, V,” Betty smiles.”You, too — as always.” Veronica flounces as bit as Jughead clears his throat. 

“So, before and after,” he laughs, and it sounds fake to Archie’s ears. “We can say we planned it.”

“Good taste,” Veronica shrugs, mulling over Betty and Jughead’s outfits.

“It was Jug’s call,” Betty laughs, and Archie watches as she slides her fingers along his forearm. He swallows, trying to tear his eyes away. They fall to his feet when he feels Betty looking at him.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Veronica smiles — Archie thinks she sounds impressed, confusingly enough — he would have thought she’d be more annoyed than anything else. “Want to come grab a drink with us?”

The four of them make their way into the kitchen, Archie mixing them drinks as Veronica and Jughead debate the merits of the 1960s film version of Bonnie and Clyde. “Any idea what they’re talking about?” Archie mumbles, handing Betty a plastic cup and shooting her a grin. 

“I’ve seen it,” she shrugs, smiling up at him and tapping her cup against his as she takes a slow sip. “I was more in it for the dress and the drinks, to tell you the truth.”

“I suggested a horror movie marathon,” Archie sighs, and Betty lets out a laugh into her cup. “I’d much rather be chewing on blood capsules to scare the crap out of you three than wearing an itchy suit,” he tugs at his collar, grinning when Betty snorts up at him. “But, it’s fine. At least there’s free alcohol.”

“Here here,” Betty smiles, then sips her drink again and scrunches her face. “You trying to get me drunk, Arch?”

“Could be,” he shrugs, pretending he’s not staring at her mouth, pretending he doesn’t notice the flush on her cheeks and instead, laughing as he hands a cup over to Veronica. She takes it wordlessly, not looking up from her argument with Jughead, who waves the cup he’s offered away.

“He’s driving,” Betty explains, holding out her free hand and taking Jughead’s drink, as well. 

“Looks like _you’re_ trying to get you drunk,” Archie laughs, his brows raised. Betty sticks her tongue out at him, but doesn’t put the second cup down, sipping her original drink.

He’s about to say they should all go find somewhere to sit — seriously, this suit is itchy _and_ warm and he’s pretty sure Veronica should return it to whoever she bought it from — when he sees a flash of red hair and knows he has no chance of leaving this spot any time soon. “Well, well,” Cheryl’s voice rings in his ears, “ _matching_ couples costumes? How very _festive_ the four of you are.”

Cheryl is dressed as a devil, a short red dress hugging her curves, a red and black cape trailing down to the ground behind her, and a pitchfork in her hand. He’s pretty sure the pitchfork is real — it looks heavy — and he makes a mental note to stay away from it. “Nice costume, Cheryl,” he says, instead of asking about the pitchfork, taking Jughead’s cup away from Betty and offering it to Cheryl. 

She holds up a hand and gives Archie a look of disgust, her red lips twisting into a frown. “No,” she says, her voice sour and firm. He thinks she’ll elaborate, but instead Cheryl turns to Veronica and starts complimenting the special effects makeup she had applied to the two of them. Archie tries — and fails — not to roll his eyes. He hears Betty snort into her plastic cup, watches as she turns her body entirely and starts talking quietly to Jughead, clearly trying not to giggle. 

He wants to make Betty laugh again, but Jughead has her occupied, so he sips his drink instead.

—

The party is kind of a bust, if you ask him. It’s not just because he doesn’t want to be there, either. It’s just…a lot of listening to Veronica bicker with Jughead about the “abhorrent incredulity” of Bonnie and Clyde remakes — he didn’t realize there was _so much_ to say about the topic, but they somehow keep finding things to say — a lot of him standing around and sipping his drinks, a lot of him refilling their cups, a lot of catching Betty’s eye through the sea of people and sharing a knowing _boring_ look with her before trying to phase back into the conversation at hand. 

Despite Archie not being a part of the conversation, he keeps trying to bring them back to Betty and Jughead — well, back to Betty, at least, who’s looking happy and tipsy whenever he’s able to find her. He thinks maybe it’s a good thing she’s staying away, though, because every time they’ve run into each other he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her in that dress, the little gun tucked into her garter belt. Even so, he feels his heart sink a little bit when he does another sweep of the room and he can’t seem to find her.

Veronica keeps glancing at the stairs and fixing his suit jacket, tugging on his lapels in that way that he knows means she thinks he looks good, and that’s…well, that’s _nice_ , but he knows this night is long from over, so…forgive him for not being all that excited about it. Besides, he knows that if she keeps drinking the way she has been, they probably won’t be doing anything fun back at the Pembroke, anyways.

“I’m going to go find Cheryl,” Veronica purrs into his ear after her fourth drink, her hand on his chest to keep her steady as she leans up to his ear. “I just wanna ask her a quick question, and then I’ll be right back, alright?” He chuckles down at her and gives her a half smile, leaning down and kissing her on the top of head as he nods. “You can entertain yourself?”

He doesn’t mean to roll his eyes, but he does slightly – then leans back and sips his drink to hide it. “I’ll be fine,” he says, “take your time.” He watches as she makes her way into another part of the house, adjusting her little hat as she turns a corner, and then surveys the room to see if he can find someone to hang out with. Betty and Jughead are nowhere to be found, Kevin and Fangs are in a serious-looking conversation with Toni, who’s dressed as an angel in a white dress and cape that looks similar to Cheryl’s devil attire, and Reggie is hitting on a girl he’s never seen before who’s dressed up like an alien.

Archie makes his way down the hall, looking around and then down into his cup as he walks. He’s so stuck in his own head about how much he’d rather _not_ be at this party, about exactly what movie they’d be on by now, about how _good_ Betty looks in her dress, that he doesn’t notice a hand reaching out of a closet door and yanking at the front of his suit jacket. 

He stumbles through the door, falling backwards against it a bit as it shuts behind him. “What the fu-,” he’s cut off by a body pressed back against his, a small hand over his mouth. He can’t make out much in the darkness of the closet, but he can faintly see the shape of the little hat from Veronica’s costume, and he smirks underneath the palm.

Okay, the party might not be so bad. 

She turns her back to him and leans into him, her ass pressing back into his hips. He slides his hand down the curve of her waist, a low chuckle escaping his throat. He drops his lips to her shoulder and feels her slide her hand up to the side of his neck, her fingers jumping slightly at the feeling of the fake bullet hole. He feels her stiffen slightly and pulls her closer, humming softly against her skin and, after a long moment, hears her let out a slow, content breath. He absently wonders where the fake bullet hole on _her_ neck has gone as his lips slide over her smooth skin, but the thought leaves his mind as he feels her hand slip onto his thigh, her fingers grazing over it slowly.

He hears her let out a breathy little moan and smiles against the hollow of her neck, his tongue flicking out over the skin and getting a taste of her sweat mixed with the floral perfume he doesn’t totally remember her wearing earlier. He thinks absently, as the ends of her hair brush against his cheek, that a wig feels a lot softer than he imagined it would.

It’s when he hears her, the breathy little, “ _Arch_ ,” ringing in his ears, that he realizes it’s not Veronica at all. 

It’s _Betty_. 

His brain stops as her hand grips his thigh tighter and he freezes for a moment, his lips still on her neck. “Arch,” she whispers again, this one a little more clear. 

Okay, she knows it’s him — did she know it was him from the start, or had she thought Jughead was walking past in his similar suit? He doesn’t know if he cares, really, as he slides his hand further down her waist, letting his fingers move along the curve of her hip. All he cares about is that she knows it’s him now, and she’s not _stopping_.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his lips still on her neck, “hmm?” His head feels dizzy — his lips are on _Betty’s_ neck, his hands are on _Betty’s_ hips, his nose is smelling _Betty’s_ scent, his tongue is tasting _Betty’s_ sweat. He lets his hand slide further down her body until his fingers are on her bare thigh, his fingertips pressing beneath the fake gun she has strapped to her leg. 

“Mmm,” she hums, shaking her head and pulling her hand off his thigh. He thinks she’s going to stop them, turn them around, send them out of this closet to pretend nothing’s happened. 

Instead, she turns herself around and drops his hand, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her, kissing him roughly. 

He moans softly into her mouth, absently trying to figure out if the closet has a lock on the door. He lets out a low groan as that thought leaves his mind, replaced with thoughts of Betty’s fingers digging into the back of his neck, Betty’s tongue against his, Betty’s alcohol soaked lips pressed to his own. “Betts,” he murmurs into her mouth, pulling back after a long moment. She shakes her head and pulls him back down. He thinks better of it, turning them around and pressing her against the door, lifting her up so her legs are wrapped around his waist. 

Okay, so maybe they’re both a little drunk — and, okay, maybe they’re both here with other people…but they’re still i _n matching costumes_ , and he’s wanted to spend this night with her, and something in his brain says that gives this a pass as he slides his hand down to her ass to lift her up a bit more before pressing himself against her, bracing her against the door.

Her lips are on his neck and he feels her tongue darting against his skin, then against the fake bullet hole he’s got adhered to his chin. He feels her lick at the skin of his jaw and lets out a low groan as she brings her lips back to his, noticing they’re wetter, opening his eyes to find them dripping with fake blood. He reaches one of his hands up to her face, dragging his thumb against her lower lip slowly, trying to brush off the fake blood and really just smearing it around a bit. He lets his eyes fall over her face, her eyes half shut, her lips swollen and parted, stained red. Somehow, it makes her even hotter.

His brain is bleary as he feels her pull one of his hands down and follows her clear demand, pressing his fingers beneath her dress, his thumb grazing over the front of her panties. _Fuck_ , she’s already wet. She moans into his mouth, reaching her own hand over to the doorknob and holding it steady so no one will be able to twist it. “Arch,” she breathes into his mouth, her hips pressing forward into his fingers, “ _please_ , I’ve wanted you all fucking night.”

“Yeah?” He hears his voice, husky and low in his throat. “All night?”

“Ever since I saw you in that suit,” she murmurs, nipping at his lips. “ _God_ ,” she groans as he slides his fingers beneath her lacy underwear, pressing his thumb against her clit, “ _more_.” He feels her reach down and grab for his belt buckle, groaning as he glances down and watches her fingers work shakily, his breathing ragged. 

He begrudgingly sets her down and takes a small step back, letting her unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip pants. He reaches his hands down and pushes her dress up, hooking his fingers into her panties and sliding them down, helping them over the tiny gun tucked into her garter belt and shutting his eyes as he hears her soft, turned on laugh in his ears. He looks down at her and finds her looking back up at him with pink cheeks, biting on her lower lip, giggling.

 _Fuck_ , this is _Betty_. 

The giggle dies in her throat as she slips her hand into his boxers. “Fuck,” he bites out, as her little fingers wrap around his already half-hard length, squeezing him and letting out a low moan. God, _this_ is Betty.

He leans down, tilting her face up and kissing her, groaning as she sucks at his tongue, slipping his fingers into her hair. “Arch,” she breathes as they pull back, her voice ragged, “ _please_ ,” he squeezes his length in her hand, running her thumb over his tip, “you need me just as bad as I need you, _please_ .” He doesn’t need her to beg — doesn’t want her to, he just wants _her_.

He lifts her up again, groaning as she wraps her legs back around him and teases his length against her, swatting her hand away and watching as she wraps it back around the doorknob, holding it tightly. 

He presses his torso against hers, his lips sliding down to her neck as he uses his free hand to line himself up. He searches her face for a second and she slips her fingers into the back of his hair, her eyes fluttering as she breathes hard, a whiny noise escaping her mouth. “Arch,” she breathes, her voice soft, and it’s all he needs to hear. He lets out a low moan against her skin as he pushes into her, filling her and then staying still as she breathes against him, her jaw going slack. 

“ _Good_ , baby,” he breathes, less of a question than he means it to be, and he hears her whimper. He pulls his face up and presses a soft kiss to her lower lip, smiling as she laughs against his mouth, “you good?”

“ _Go_ , Archie,” she moans, her voice low, “ _go_ , m’ _fine_.” He laughs against her mouth, feeling her free hand come up to his face, her fingers pressing against the side of his neck. 

He does as he’s told, shifting his hips and thrusting into her again, setting a quick pace, one he knows they both need. He covers her mouth with his, feeling her moans reverberating against the back of his throat as he slides his tongue over hers. “ _Shit_ ,” she whines into his mouth, “ _fuck_.”

He groans into her mouth, steadying her with one hand on her waist, the other dipping between them to roll her clit between his fingers. She moans, louder, into his mouth and he bites down on her lower lip, tugging on it, “ _Quiet_ ,” he growls, “shh, Betts, someone’s gonna,” he loses the rest of his sentence, groaning against her mouth as she shifts her hips and he slides deeper into her. “ _Fuck_.”

He hears the door rattling before he notices her hand slipping on the doorknob, and he pulls his fingers from her clit — much to her disappointment, a whispered whine into his mouth — and settles them over hers on the doorknob, holding it even tighter. He feels her tense up and her fingers clutch at his shoulders. He shakes his head, pressing his mouth over hers and kissing her. “S’fine,” he whispers, “s’fine.” It doesn’t really _feel_ fine, though. His heart hammers in his chest — it could be hers, if he’s being honest, he can’t really tell. Still, he keeps his pace up, his hips moving against her and his breathing ragged as he squeezes his eyes shut, praying no one will try to open the door to this fucking closet when they’re both way too fucking close to stop.

The rattling quiets after a long few moments and he feels her body relax, her nails digging into the back of his neck as she shifts her hips again, both of them groaning as he brushes against her spot. Her mouth molds over his and she bites down on his lower lip, whining as she starts to tighten around him. “ _Please_ ,” she whines, “ _please_ , Arch, I’m so close.” 

“Close,” he bites out along with a low groan from the back of his throat as he drills into her, taking his hand off the doorknob and pinching at her clit again, varying the pressure until he feels her tightening harder around him, clearly on the edge. “Let go, Betts,” he breathes, sliding his lips over to her cheek, “ _please_ , come for me.” 

He feels her letting go, her breathy moans low against his neck, her fingers digging into his skin and that’s all it takes for him to snap his hips and spill into her, groaning and pressing her body further back against the door as he slumps against her. 

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, after a long few moments of ragged breathing. He laughs softly against her shoulder, tracing his wet fingers against her hip. “Holy _shit_.” 

“S’your fault,” she sighs, kissing the skin of his neck softly, “for looking so good in that suit.”

He laughs, low in his throat, pulling her face up and kissing her sloppily, smiling against her mouth. “You’re one to talk,” he mumbles against her lips, “when you look like _that_ , Betty.”

“Shut up,” she breathes, her cheeks red. He reaches down and snaps the garter belt with his index finger, chuckling against her shoulder. They stay put for a few minutes, Betty’s fingers in Archie’s hair, Archie’s hands trailing over her hips. “We have to get back,” she whispers, sounding less-than-convincing. “They’ll look for us.”

“Few more minutes,” he mumbles, hearing the pout in his voice. He knows when he pulls out of her and puts his pants back on, things are going to be…different, somehow. He doesn’t want them to be different, just yet.

“Few minutes,” she agrees after a moment, nodding. She traces her fingers along the back of his neck, lazy little shapes, and he swears, little B’s, little A’s. “Better than a horror movie marathon, at least,” she mumbles, “don’t you think?” He nods, a smile on his lips. 

Maybe he doesn’t _hate_ halloween parties, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bettycooopers) or [tumblr](https://bettycooopers.tumblr.com) if you feel like watching me break down in real time!


End file.
